


Pestilence returns

by falsepremise



Series: From Good to Great [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And learning to be healthier, Angel Sex, Angel Sexuality (Good Omens), Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Can be read as stand-alone, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dry Humping, Emotional Fallout, Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Fluff, Frottage, Happy Ending, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Heaven is a cult, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Other, Pandemics, Post-Argument Sex, Smut, Some angst as COVID19 happens, Starts happy and sexy, healing trauma, intermingling, show book and lockdown vid all canon, show over-rides book if they contradict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsepremise/pseuds/falsepremise
Summary: You didn’t think Heaven and Hell would just give up, did you?An Armageddon averted, a love confessed, but it isn’t over yet. Join Aziraphale and Crowley as they settle into their newly declared love. Find out what happens next. Well, you know something of what happens next. You are living it. Obviously, Pestilence returns. But now you get to know why and how.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: From Good to Great [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919863
Comments: 32
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**One month after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**Somewhere in the lofty halls of Heaven**

The Archangel Michael moved through the stark white halls with a swift efficiency. After all, angels were not late. And Michael was an exemplary angel. Besides, you didn’t keep the Archangel Gabriel waiting. Not even the Archangel Michael did that. 

As Michael strode confidently through the lofty halls, she passed a trio of angels. They were of insignificant rank. Guardians, most likely. Michael did not know their names. They were chattering away, clearly gossiping—undignified behaviour for an angel Michael thought to herself—but they immediately quietened when they caught sight of the Archangel Michael. She smiled at them tightly as she passed and they nodded in return, quickly dispersing, darting away.

Michael continued, moving through the open doorway into a large white room with massive glass walls. Gabriel was standing, back to the door, looking out at the extraordinary view. Well, naturally he was already here, Michael thought. Angels were not late.

‘Michael,’ Gabriel said, as he turned around.

Michael nodded respectfully, ‘Gabriel.’

‘You wanted to speak with me?’ Gabriel said with a warm grin.

‘I did,’ Michael smiled, ‘it’s about this, well, this…’ she paused for a moment, finding the words, ‘policy change.’

Gabriel raised a single eyebrow, ‘It’s a brilliant idea, isn’t it?’

Michael frowned, ‘To be honest, I have some misgivings. I thought it best to raise them privately.’

Gabriel shook his head, ‘Look, Michael, I’ll be frank. We are in a pretty desperate position. Pretty desperate. We need some out-of-the-box thinking. A fresh perspective. And, while I understand your trepidation, a little cooperation with Hell will give us that.’

Michael frowned, considering with distaste all the things that cooperation with Hell could give them.

Gabriel strode forward and slapped her on the back, ‘Michael, c’mon. We need to re-group, brainstorm and be agile. Creativity and a fresh perspective will enable us to effectively pivot in light of these unprecedented events,’ he paused and smiled broadly, opening arms wide, ‘We’ll soon have the end of the world back on track.’

Michael’s lips pressed tightly together, ‘I’m just not sure it’s the best plan. It’s risky.’

‘Oh?’ Gabriel said with raised eyebrows, ‘doubting me, Michael?’

‘Not at all,’ Michael replied strongly, ‘No! Gabriel you mustn’t think that. It isn’t _you_ I doubt. They are _demons_. They betrayed Heaven before. Every single one of them. How do we know they won’t again?’

Gabriel laughed, ‘Michael, oh Michael, we aren’t actually going to trust them!’ He shook his head, ‘And I must say I’m surprised at your position on this. You’ve never objected to the back channels before. And you were all for cooperation to eliminate the traitors. Why, you volunteered to deliver the goods yourself.’

‘This is different,’ Michael said curtly, ‘we were always discreet with the back channels and the elimination of the traitors was, well, anyone could understand why that was necessary. But long-term cooperation? Open cooperation?’ Michael shook her head and her eyes flicked to the doorway and back, ‘I’m not sure _they_ will be able to resist the temptation.’

Gabriel sighed and nodded knowingly, ‘Oh, Michael. Now, I understand. Thank-you for bringing this concern to my attention. But I must tell you, I am not worried about the ability of my angels to withstand the pressure that cooperation with Hell will bring. Do you know why?’

Michael shook her head.

‘They’ll have _you_ to protect them,’ Gabriel said with a grin, ‘have a little faith, Michael.’

**One month after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A.Z. Fell and Co. Purveyor of Books to the Gentry, Soho, London**

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he ended his stocktake with a careful inventory of his latest acquisitions. Well, Aziraphale called what he was doing stocktaking. It bore only a superficial resemblance to the activity known as stocktaking in any other bookshop. In reality, Aziraphale was admiring his own collection, taking the time to run his hands over his books, to greet old favourites and to find books he’d stacked up ready to read and forgotten about for too long, cataloguing a little mental to-read list for the next several weeks.

Stocktaking, as Aziraphale insisted on calling it, had long been a favourite activity. But this time, well, Aziraphale felt elated. He was light, joyful, in a way he hadn’t felt in, well, ever. But elation had been his persistent mood for the past month. The past month! Aziraphale shook his head. How much had happened!

Aziraphale smiled to himself as he carefully opened a cardboard box containing books from a deceased estate. Aziraphale quickly identified a complete collection Austen, including a few first editions, as well as some other lesser known romance novels. Aziraphale breathed in the smell of the old books in deeply, pausing for a moment to relish in it. Then he took each book in hand and looked it over carefully, evaluating its condition. A couple of the books required repairs and Aziraphale put those carefully aside. That would be a task for tomorrow. But there were a few books that could be immediately placed on the shelves. In fact, Aziraphale thought to himself, these books could be sold. He already had a complete set of Austen first editions and none of the other books particularly tickled his fancy.

Aziraphale started humming again as he began to place each book on the shelves in a cataloguing system that only he could possibly understand (although it must be acknowledged that Crowley had worked out several pertinent details, notably the location of the erotica section).

As Aziraphale stepped back towards the cardboard box to fetch the next book, he added a little jig to his step. Feeling emboldened, Aziraphale clicked his fingers before taking the next book. The gramophone sprung to life and began to obligingly play the very song that Aziraphale had been humming: Spread a Little Happiness from the musical Mr Cinders, and a lively, upbeat version at that.

The only dance that Aziraphale knew was the gavotte. But he also knew that humans often improvised dances. It wasn’t something he’d have ever felt game to try before. A dance without rules! The very idea would have been enough to set his teeth on edge. Simply learning the gavotte had been rebellion enough and Aziraphale had always been grateful that Heaven had never found out about it. But here and now, excommunicated from Heaven and on the other side of an Armageddon that hadn’t gone as planned, Aziraphale felt he could do anything, and he found himself dancing.

Aziraphale’s improvised dance bore a strong resemblance to the gavotte. It was built from the same basic steps. They were, after all, the only dance steps he knew. But, Aziraphale thought he was doing rather a good job of it. All the lovely young men at that club in Portland Place had assured him that he had mastered the gavotte quite well and this improvisation thing wasn’t as tricky as he’d expected.

There were no rules to the dance. But there was the music. And if there was one thing that Aziraphale had learned of late, it was how to listen. He didn’t need rules. The music was enough. Aziraphale twirled and kicked and shuffled along, heart beating wildly with the exertion and the joy of it.

‘Spread a little happiness till dreams come true,’Aziraphale sang along with the next line as he shuffled around to put the next book on the shelf. How very true, Aziraphale thought to himself with a smile. He’d been patient all this time. He’d been stoic. And here he was. All his dreams had come true. Aziraphale smiled to himself. He twirled around and kicked up his legs. As he danced over to the box of books he spun again and caught sight of Crowley standing in the doorway.

Crowley was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a posy of red and white flowers and a box of what Aziraphale quickly recognised as some form of confectionary in hand, watching Aziraphale intently and smiling softly to himself.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale cried out, caught in a curious mix of delight and mortification. He clicked his fingers to stop the music and swallowed hard, still panting from the exertion, ‘I was just um…doing some stocktaking.’

‘Stocktaking?’ Crowley said with smile, ‘Angel, I have never believed that what you call stocktaking actually is stocktaking but _that_ looked rather a lot like dancing…’

Aziraphale smiled shyly, ‘well, yes. And a little dancing.’

‘You’re gorgeous, angel,’ Crowley drawled with a shake of his head, ‘Could watch you dance anytime…’ he smiled softly and Aziraphale smiled back. Crowley cleared his throat, ‘I could take you out dancing sometime, if you like.’

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale gasped, eyes lighting up, hands clasping together excitedly, ‘do you think we could learn to waltz? I’ve always rather fancied learning to waltz,’ he paused moment, teeth digging into his bottom lip, ‘well, I’ve fancied learning it with you. Didn’t quite feel like the kind of thing I could ask before…’

Crowley raised a single eyebrow, ‘the waltz?’ He shook his head and tsked playfully, ‘Scandalous, angel. We’d have to stand terribly close. I’ve heard it can give rise to all kinds of passions.’

‘Oh, I think we’d manage to weather the burden of it,’ Aziraphale said with a chuckle.

Crowley snorted, ’m sure we would. Anyway, I brought you flowers and chocolates,’ he added, strolling forward and holding them both out. His cheeks pinked up a little.

‘Oh, Crowley, you darling,’ Aziraphale said taking the offered bouquet and box of chocolates.

Crowley shrugged, blushing, ‘S’fine just flowers ‘n chocolates.’

Aziraphale smelled the flowers—white daises, carnations and red roses—and he smiled to himself, ‘let me find a vase.’

Aziraphale found a vase in the back room and filled it with water and a teaspoon of sugar. As he fussed about with arranging the flowers he said, ‘you’re a bit early, dear. I was expecting you for dinner. It’s not quite time yet.’

‘I couldn’t wait any longer,’ Crowley said with a smile, ‘had to see you, angel.’

Aziraphale bit his lower lip and blinked back little tears. It wasn’t what Crowley said—Aziraphale knew full well the reason for Crowley’s early appearance—it was that Crowley had said it. He hadn’t felt the need to invent some plausible lie or to make a joke of it. They were finally being open with each other, in every way that mattered, and it was glorious.

‘You finish the stock taking, though, angel,’ Crowley added with a shrug, ‘I can amuse myself ‘til you’re done. I can watch you dance.’ He pulled of his sunglasses and threw them onto the coffee table.

Aziraphale chuckled. Then he shook his head and placed the vase on his desk, ‘Oh, no. I’ve got a better idea.’

‘Oh?’ Crowley replied, trying his best to look as if he didn’t have a clue what that idea could possibly be.

Aziraphale nodded. He walked slowly and steadily closer to where Crowley stood in the middle of the room. When he had reached Crowley, he stopped just in front of him and smiled affectionately. Crowley shuffled a little and licked his lips in anticipation, still trying to pretend that he didn’t know what was about to happen.

Aziraphale leaned in and caught Crowley’s mouth with the softest of kisses, lips barely brushing each other. He enjoyed the roar of his own desire rising and waited carefully, patiently, for evidence of Crowley’s. It didn’t take long for Crowley to betray himself. Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale, smiling into the kiss, deepened it, dipping his tongue at last into the warmth of Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale shivered with pleasure.

Crowley moaned loudly as Aziraphale tongue dipped into his mouth a second time. His arms wrapped tightly around Aziraphale, taking greedy fistfuls of Aziraphale’s buttocks and squeezing them in a way that made Aziraphale shudder. Desire slipped quickly into desperation and they walked to the couch, lip-locked, hands hungrily roving over physical forms. As Aziraphale’s heel hit the bottom of the couch, he had to pull away from the kiss for a moment to orient himself. Crowley whimpered as the loss of touch. Aziraphale chuckled and lay back onto the couch tugging at Crowley’s outstretched hand, urging him to lie on top.

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale—clothing rumpled from Crowley’s hands, lips pink from kissing and a notable bump in the trousers—and swallowed hard, quickly nodding his consent as he obligingly climbed on top.

Aziraphale gasped as the heat of Crowley’s erection, still enclosed in his ridiculously tight pants, slid up against Aziraphale’s own hard member. Crowley groaned and his head fell into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck where he breathed in deeply of the scent that was all safety and desire at once. Crowley moaned again and thrust—head still deliciously heavy with the scent of Aziraphale—and Aziraphale’s delighted gasps only spurred him on as he began to kiss the sweet flesh of Aziraphale’s neck with abandon.

‘Crowley…’ Aziraphale moaned breathlessly, ‘Oh, my Crowley…’

Crowley paused in his kissing to pant, ‘Angel, how do you do this to me?’ His breath tickled against Aziraphale’s skin and shivered down his spine. Aziraphale shuddered and clutched onto Crowley.

Crowley took a mouthful of warm flesh into his mouth and sucked hard enough to bring an edge of pain to intermingle with Aziraphale’s pleasure. Crowley thrust down as he sucked, seeking friction for his hardened cock, rubbing himself wantonly against Aziraphale’s own achingly hard member. Aziraphale keened. Close, every instinct inside him whispered, closer than close. No boundary, no edge, no separation. Reach out, the instincts sung within, reach out. With one last shiver, Aziraphale lost control of the edges of himself, and he poured satisfyingly into Crowley.

Crowley moaned deeply, shuddering with pleasure as wave after wave of the sweet bliss of their intermingling combined with their more human-like coupling and pushed him quickly over the edge. Crowley peaked, and their boundaries collapsed, his climax rolled not just himself, but Aziraphale whose own ecstasy quickly peaked too, waves of it rushing back to Crowley and bringing fresh pleasure. Eventually, Crowley collapsed on top of Aziraphale, shuddering and helpless against the unadulterated bliss of it all as Aziraphale moaned wantonly beneath.

Crowley whimpered softly into Aziraphale’s neck. Still panting heavily, he pulled himself up a little, to look Aziraphale in the eye, ‘I love you sssso much.’

Aziraphale kissed him desperately, ‘I adore you.’ Crowley smiled, satisfied, and pulled himself up to sitting. He clicked his fingers and disappeared the sticky mess from their clothing.

Aziraphale swallowed hard and pulled himself up to sitting next to Crowley, ‘I am not sure we are doing this quite right,’ he said breathlessly, ‘I believe we are meant to have dinner first.’

Crowley raised a single eyebrow, ‘Angel, we are definitely doing that right.’

Aziraphale chuckled warmly.

‘Anyway, it was your idea as I recall. You seduced me,’ Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale tutted and shook his head, ‘You showed up early! What was I supposed to do?’

Crowley snorted in amusement. Typical. He waved a hand around, ‘Well, anyway, we’ll have another round after dinner ‘n put things right.’

‘Will we now?’ Aziraphale said his voice rich with warm affection, ‘perhaps we should disrobe next time,’ he continued, eyes widening, ‘As I understand that is usually considered appropriate.’

‘Far be it for me to object to the removal of your clothes, angel,’ Crowley said, hands held up in the air, ‘you well know how I feel about your physical form.’

Aziraphale chuckled. He did know.

‘But,’ Crowley continued, ‘m pretty sure what we just did is more intimate than anything the humans do, including getting our gear off.’

Aziraphale nodded, as he carefully adjusted his clothing. ‘That’s true I suppose,’ he said, conceding the point.

Crowley grinned widely. Aziraphale’s eyes found his and for a moment they simply held each other’s eyes, lovers lost in each other, enjoying the warmth of the afterglow. Oh, Aziraphale thought to himself as he stared into Crowley’s golden eyes, oh, I really do love him terribly.

‘Yes, dear!’ the sound of Aziraphale’s voice rang out loud and clear, interrupting the moment. Aziraphale frowned. He had not spoken. His eyes darted immediately to the source of the noise: Crowley’s pocket.

Crowley pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked it, ‘Ah, just the calendar alert for our date,’ he said with deliberately nonchalance, ‘Shall we head off then?’

Aziraphale frowned harder. He knew that Crowley was trying to needle him. And he was determined not to raise to the bait. If Crowley found out how much it annoyed him there would be no end to it. So, he determinedly ignored the ridiculous noise the blasted phone had made, smiled and said, ‘yes of course. The Ritz?’

‘If you want,’ Crowley said with a shrug, ‘whatever takes your fancy, angel.’

‘The Ritz then,’ Aziraphale said as, stood up and slipped off his comfortable cardigan. He fussed about with his clothes some more, massaging out the creases and fixing the bow tie. Then he carefully slipped on his coat. 

‘After you,’ Crowley said, opening the door for Aziraphale to stride on through. Aziraphale locked up behind them and Crowley ran ahead, opening the passenger door of The Bentley. Aziraphale slipped into place and Crowley slid into position in the driver’s seat, turning the car on with a click.

 _‘Don’t stop me now!’_ Freddie Mercury sang loudly, as the Bentley’s music blared with the revving of the engine, _‘I’m having such a good time. I’m having a ball!’_

Crowley tutted and pulled a face, ‘sorry. It’s meant to be Bach. Must’ve left it in here too long.’

Aziraphale laughed, ‘it’s fine. Really. Not my cup of tea but quite appropriate.’

Crowley’s cheeks pinked up in a manner that Aziraphale found utterly adorable. Crowley shrugged and pulled the car out, taking them towards The Ritz and their dinner date.

 _‘I’m travelling at the speed of light,’_ Freddie Mercury sung loudly as Crowley swerved through the London traffic, _‘I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!’_

Aziraphale grinned. You already have, dear boy, he thought to himself. You already have.

**Two months after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**On carefully negotiated neutral ground (a coffee shop in Milton Keynes, UK)**

‘They’re late,’ Uriel said with a frown, her fingers tapping impatiently on the table in front of her.

Gabriel shrugged, ‘It’s alright, Uriel,’ he said as he waved a hand around, ‘They’ll be late but they’ll come.’

‘It’s disrespectful,’ Uriel added, fingers still drumming on the table.

Michael shook her head, ‘They are not like us. They are the Fallen. We have to focus on rising above their antics.’

Uriel listened carefully and nodded, ‘I understand,’ she said, stilling her fingers and placing her hands open on the table.

‘Still it is disrespectful,’ Sandalphon said with a frown.

Gabriel shrugged again, ‘What do I care for the respect of the Fallen, Sandalphon?’

Sandalphon grunted and for awhile they fell into silence. The waitress tried to take an order from them again and, again, Uriel waved her away.

‘We could always smite them,’ Sandalphon said several minutes later, ‘We could smite them every time they are late. They’d soon learn.’

‘Good idea, Sandalphon,’ Gabriel said with a patronising nod, ‘We’ll keep that in mind. Let’s think of it as Plan B, hm?’

The door of the café swung open and Beelzebub entered, Dagon and Hastur by her sides. She glanced around, table by table until she spotted the four angels. She grinned sourly, like she was sucking a lemon but determined to make the best of it. Beelezebub straightened up and approached the table with a confident air.

The waitress spotted the newcomers and immediately reappeared, clearly thinking that she’d been waved away all this time simply because they were waiting for the full party to appear.

‘Are you ready to order now?’ she asked with a sweet and professional smile.

Dagon pulled her lips back from her teeth, exposing her horrifying teeth. She hissed viciously. The waitress jumped back, terrified, turned and fled, leaving the coffee shop and her job in rush.

Michael tutted and shook her head, ‘really, Dagon. There was no need for that. We could have just waved them away.’

Dagon turned to Michael and grinned, her sharp teeth gleaming, ‘this was more fun.’

Michael smiled tightly and Gabriel waved for the demons to sit down. Beelzebub pulled up a chair first, directly opposite Gabriel, and Dagon and Hastur followed, one on each side.

‘You’ve been given the go-ahead?’ Beelzebub asked without preamble.

‘The go ahead?’ Gabriel repeated, eyes wide.

Beelzebub pointed upwards, ‘The go-ahead.’

Gabriel’s lavender eyes glanced upwards and the eyes of the other three angels followed. Gabriel looked back to Beelzebub and nodded. ‘Oh, yes, we have the go-ahead from the very highest authority in Heaven,’ he said importantly.

Beelzebub nodded, ‘the Metatron gives his authority then. Good. Lucifer gives his as well. I act on his behalf.’

Gabriel shifted uncomfortably, partly from the casual usage of Satan’s original name and partly from what Beelzebub had implied. Sandalphon frowned, confused. He licked his lips as he tried to puzzle it out. Michael and Uriel looked away discretely.

‘The Metatron is the voice of God,’ Gabriel said strongly, ‘when he speaks it is the voice of the Almighty itself. Hence, my authority comes directly from her.’

Beelezebub snorted in amusement. Then she shrugged and shook her head. ‘Whatever. What do I care for the power structure of Heaven?’ 

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat, ‘I suggest we move onto the topic at hand. We are here to discuss how to restart Armageddon.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Beelezebub, said with a wave of her hands, ‘I have an idea.’

‘You do?’ Uriel asked, eyes widened in surprise. None of the angels had a clue what to do. How could it be that a demon had figured it out? Michael frowned and kicked Uriel under the table. Uriel cleared her throat and looked away.

Beelzebub snorted in amusement. She leaned forward, ‘Yesszzz I do. And it’s a good one.’

‘Please share your idea, Beelezebub,’ Gabriel said with an open gesture.

Beelezebub leaned back and raised her eyebrows dramatically, ‘What was the very first thing that went wrong? The very first thing that wasn’t as written?’

‘Well, the traitors…’Gabriel began but Beelezebub shook her head and cut him off.

‘Before the traitorszzz,’ Beelezebub said.

Gabriel shook his head, making a face. He shrugged, ‘I don’t know. What was the first thing that wasn’t as written?’

Beelzebub leaned forward again, ‘Someone allowed Pestilence to retire,’ she announced melodramatically.

‘Ah,’ Gabriel said shaking his finger, ‘you’re right. By jove, you’re right. Of course. Pestilence retired.’

Beelezebub grimaced at the stuffy expression.

‘What idiot allowed Pestilence to retire?’ Hastur interrupted with a scowl, ‘they’re Pestilence. They can’t retire! Who’s responsible for this?’

Gabriel shook his head seriously, ‘Dreadful. Terrible oversight. Clearly. Not my department. But we’ll look into it. Michael, look into it.’

Michael nodded with a tight smile, ‘At once.’

‘Right so, what does this mean then? What do we do next?’ Gabriel said, looking back to Beelzebub.

‘We bring Pestilence back,’ Beelezebub said mockingly with raised eyebrows, ‘its obvious, isn’t it?’

‘We bring Pestilence back!’ Gabriel repeated with a shout, ‘Of course. Brilliant. I know just the person to do it. We outsource those kinds of things these days. But still. Just the person. Very competent. What’s his name again?’

Gabriel looked to Michael. Michael shrugged and looked to Uriel. Uriel shrugged and looked to Sandalphon. Sandalphon frowned, ‘who’s what then?’

Gabriel shrugged and shook his head, ‘well, whatever his name is, he gets the job done and that’s all we need to know. No problems there.’

‘Good,’ Beelzebub said with a decisive nod, ‘it’s a plan then?’

‘Absolutely!’Gabriel enthused. He turned to the other angels, ‘You see? You see? This is what we needed. Fresh ideas. A new perspective. This is why this whole working together thing is going to work.’

The other angels nodded seriously beside him. Maybe this would work after all.

Beelzebub grinned with an edge of distaste, once again looking like she was sucking a lemon. Hastur picked a glass off the table and bit into it, chewing happily on the shards as Dagon bared her teeth at the family at the next table. Their baby began to cry, and the wails echoed through the shop. 

None of that could dampen Gabriel’s elation. He slammed his fist on the table, ‘Prepare world! Pestilence is coming back!’


	2. Chapter 2

**Three** **months after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**St James Park, London**

Aziraphale happily polished off the last of the strawberries while Crowley, lounging about on the tartan picnic blanket, stared at him with rapt attention.

Aziraphale wiggled in delight as he chewed the final bite, ‘delicious.’

‘Hm,’ Crowley replied, still staring.

Aziraphale wiped his hands on a serviette and brushed the remaining crumbs off his clothes. He shuffled over on the picnic blanket, getting a little closer to Crowley. Then he sighed and gazed around at the scenery, ‘It is beautiful here, isn’t it?’

‘Hm,’ Crowley drawled, still staring directly at Aziraphale, ‘gorgeous.’

Aziraphale pinked up, delighted.

Crowley cleared his throat and broke his stare. He looked out to the lakes, ‘But yeah, the park thing ‘S alright too.’

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley fondly. He opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by little groaning noise from Crowley’s pocket.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and his mouth fell all the way open.

Crowley’s lip quirked up to the side and he slipped the phone out of his pocket. As he did so it moaned again. This time the moan was clearly recognisable. It was Aziraphale’s own voice. Aziraphale’s flushed a deep red as Crowley quickly typed up a text and clicked send.

Aziraphale had been determined to ignore Crowley’s shenanigans. And he had. He had put up with all kinds of bits and pieces of his own blasted speech coming from that infernal thing. But he would not ignore this. He could not ignore this.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale said curtly, ‘I must insist you remove that sound from your phone at once.’

‘Oh?’ Crowley said, voice dripping with faux nonchalance even as his face broke into such a wide grin that gave him away, ‘you’ve never objected before. I have been using recordings of your voice as alerts and ringtones for at least a month.’

Aziraphale spluttered, ‘you’ve gone too far this time.’

Crowley raised his eyebrows and gestured widely, ‘how so?’

‘You recorded me in- in- in an intimate moment!’ Aziraphale said, flustered.

Crowley snorted. ‘Nope,’ he replied popping the p sound and throwing his phone onto the blanket.

Aziraphale watched the infernal thing land on his tartan and his eyes narrowed, ‘you clearly did. And it is quite inappropriate.’

Crowley shook his head, ‘I didn’t.’

‘You clearly did,’ Aziraphale replied, voice bristling with irritation, ‘I heard it. And if you don’t remove it at once I’ll- I’ll- why I’ll throw it into the lake!’

‘I recorded that lovely little sound at the Ritz,’ Crowley said matter-of-factly, ‘quite a public setting last time I checked. Respectable, even.’

Aziraphale shook his head rapidly, like he wasn’t event going to consider the notion.

‘Uh-huh,’ Crowley continued, ‘That’s you sharing an intimate moment with a cheesecake, angel.’

Aziraphale frowned and brushed non-existent crumbs off his trousers, ‘what absolute nonsense.’

‘Hm, but I will get rid of it, huh? Since it bothers you so much,’ Crowley said picking his phone back up and changing the text alert noise to something terribly boring that came with the device, ‘there all done,’ he added, throwing the phone back onto the blanket.

Aziraphale continued to frown, looking everywhere but Crowley.

‘You didn’t really think I’d record you while we were fucking, did you?’ Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale huffed, and tutted, and picked at his trousers. Eventually, he sighed. ‘It did seem a bit much,’ he said, eyes darting to Crowley and then away again.

Crowley snorted. ‘You have to admit. I finally got you to react.’

Aziraphale’s eyes darted back to Crowley and he found himself smiling fondly. Then chuckling. He shook his head, ‘you wily old serpent.’

Crowley laughed loudly. ‘There it is.’

Aziraphale looked away and frowned again. ‘I’m still cross.’

Crowley snorted again. ‘You know you really do make those noises when you are eating. Always have.’

Aziraphale tutted and rolled his eyes.

Crowley leaned forward, his lips close to Aziraphale’s ear, ‘Drives me crazy,’ he whispered, his hot breath tickling down Aziraphale’s spine, ‘I love it. You don’t know how those little gasps and groans have tortured me, how many fantasies they’ve fuelled…’

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he considered this. ‘Really?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘How many fantasies exactly?’

‘Many, many fantasies,’ Crowley replied, with a shake of his head, ‘so many.’

‘You know,’ Aziraphale said licking his lips, ‘perhaps, I’ll have one more custard tart.’ He looked across to Crowley, his wide eyes dancing with mischief.

Crowley groaned loudly, falling back on the blanket with a hand draped across his forehead. ‘Do, angel,’ he whispered melodramatically, ‘Do.’

Aziraphale chuckled, Crowley snorted with laughter and they were soon clutching at each other and laughing hysterically.

**Three** **months after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A wet market in Wuhan, China**

Lesley moved through the marketplace with care, his eyes roving over the people around him, searching for the the one he was looking for.

Another strange delivery this one. Did it make Lesley nervous? Yes. Was he going to perform the delivery with anything less than an excellent level of service? No. Absolutely not. Lesley took pride in his job. Other people may think it trivial, delivering packages. Well, no ‘may’ about it, Leslie knew that other people thought it was trivial. But he didn’t. There was dignity in doing a job well. That was how Leslie had been raised. And that was how he saw it. And Leslie’s job? It was to deliver packages.

The conversation around him was loud and incomprehensible. Leslie did not speak Mandarin, let alone the Wuhan dialect. This did not concern him. Leslie liked travelling. A perk of the job. He strode confidently through the marketplace, holding the package firmly in both hands, keen eyes continuing to search the crowd. As he looked for his target he took in the scene: the hanging meat, the fresh fish, the cages of live chickens, the traditional medicine, the fruits and vegetables—many of them exotic to Leslie’s eye—and at one stall in particular he raised an eyebrow at the live snakes for sale. Leslie grinned in delight. Fascinating place, he thought to himself, should bring Maud here for a holiday. 

Finally, Leslie saw them.

They immediately looked in Leslie’s direction, milky white eyes finding Leslie’s own. Their face was pale in a way that looked decidedly unhealthy and their limbs were covered in sores, no doubt from some unfortunate affliction. Leslie immediately decided not to mention it.

‘Hullo, sir,’ Leslie said with a warm smile, ‘have a package for you.’

‘Do you now?’ Pestilence answered, their pale lips twisting into an amused grin, ‘I did wonder.’

‘Well,’ Leslie said, ‘if you’ve been expecting something, I’d say here it is. Just need your signature here.’

Leslie held out his clipboard.

‘Of course,’ Pestilence replied, quickly writing an illegible squiggle on the paper. They sneezed loudly, a fine mist of mucous spraying all over the clipboard and pen. Pestilence handed both back to Leslie.

Leslie grimaced a little, but contained his disgust for the sake of politeness, ‘no matter,’ he said as he wiped the pen on his trousers. ‘Ha!’ he laughed looking at the illegible signature. His mouth quirked up in amusement, ‘You should be a doctor.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Pestilence replied with sudden heat, eyes narrowing.

‘Oh, I just meant terrible handwriting,’ Leslie said pointing to the signature.

‘Oh,’ Pestilence visibly calmed. They smiled and nodded, ‘yes, I see. I suppose it is.’

Leslie handed over the box and Pestilence took it gingerly. They licked their lips, opened the top carefully and peeked inside. They smiled, nodding to themselves and closing the box again.

‘Wonderful place, this. Amazing,’ Leslie said, making conversation, ‘you know I passed a stall with live snakes! Incredible!’

Pestilence smiled, looking back to Leslie, ‘It is a wonderful place, isn’t it?’ they replied with genuinely, ‘So busy. So many people. And not just people. Animals. The live snakes. So many species, all snuggled up together. There’s a stall over that way,’ Pestilence gestured to the left and Leslie’s gaze followed the gesture, ‘that sells bats,’ they gestured to the right, ‘and over there a stall where you can find live pangolin.’

Leslie raised an eyebrow, ‘What’s pangolin?’

Pestilence laughed, ‘Quite! So many species. Dead. Living. Domesticated. Wild. Encaged. You know what I see when I look at a thriving marketplace like this? All these people, all these animals?’

Leslie shook his head, fascinated.

‘Opportunity,’ Pestilence answered with a little glint in their eye, ‘I see opportunity.’

Leslie was about to ask if Pestilence was involved in a business venture in Wuhan when Pestilence suddenly reached out and snatched the arm of a passing child. They pulled the child close and coughed a great hacking cough in her face. Leslie was stepping forward to intervene but before he could act, Pestilence smiled, apologised in perfect Wuhan dialect and let her go. The child stumbled away. She looked back at Pestilence with a frown and broke into a run, off to find her family.

Leslie watched the little girl go in confusion.

Pestilence chuckled to themself, ‘swings and roundabouts isn’t it, life?’

Leslie chewed his bottom lip, still preoccupied with the child, ‘yes, I suppose it is.’

‘I mean, on one hand, they’ve invented antibiotics and vaccines. They have germ theory and soap,’ Pestilence explained, opening the cardboard box back up, ‘but on the other hand, there are more and more opportunities to be found in places like this. Places where humanity nudges up close with other species. And, of course, now that opportunity has found me, I can be in Thailand, Italy or Spain tomorrow,’ they said, putting both hands into the box and pulling out a perfect, shining crown.

Leslie recognised it at once, ‘oh, I delivered a crown just like that! To someone not far from where I grew up, actually.’

Pestilence smiled a razor-sharp smile, ‘I know.’

Leslie chewed his bottom lip, ‘So, are you royalty then? Both of you?’

‘No,’ Pestilence shook their head, ‘but even Kings and Queens bow before me.’

‘Well, that’s nice, isn’t it?’ Leslie said with a laugh.

Pestilence put the crown on their own head carefully. It was a perfect fit and it glistened and glimmered in the sunlight. They nodded, ‘Well, good man, I must take my leave.’

‘Of course,’ Leslie replied, ‘And I’d better pick up something from the marketplace to take home to the wife.’

‘Oh, I think you already have,’ Pestilence replied with a grin, ‘But if you want to pick up something else, might I recommend the pangolin or perhaps a bat? Live animals always go down well I find.’

Leslie frowned, his gaze flicking towards the stalls that Pestilence had pointed out earlier. ‘I’ll be sure to check them out,’ he replied politely.

Pestilence nodded, ‘And I must be off. I have places to be. So many places. I’ll be seeing you again soon no doubt.’

Pestilence waved began to walk away.

‘Wait!’ Leslie called out.

Pestilence turned.

‘Antibiotics and air travel…’ Leslie said with a shake of his head, ‘they are both _good_ things.’

Pestilence snorted, ‘are they?’ They grinned, tilting their head to the side, ‘The thing is I’ve been waiting, biding my time, twiddling my thumbs, you might say. Attacked. Forgotten. Replaced. And now… and now…’ Pestilence laughed, their milky-white eyes welling with tears of happiness, ‘Don’t you see? Wings!’ They raised their pale sore-covered arms high, ‘Opportunity knocks at last and they’ve given me wings!’

Pestilence shook their head and turned from Leslie. Leslie shuddered. He couldn’t quite say why but he was afraid. He stood silent and still watching until the strange pale figure disappeared into the bustle of the marketplace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Four months after** **Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**On carefully negotiated neutral ground (the same coffee shop in Milton Keynes, UK)**

Uriel sighed as she tapped out a little rhythm on the table, ‘they’re late again.’

‘I told you,’ Michael said patiently, ‘they play games. Always have. Our task, as angels, is to rise above it all.’

‘Well put, Michael,’ Gabriel agreed.

Uriel nodded and took a deep, steadying breath. Several minutes passed and Uriel began to drum her fingers again. Michael sniffed.

‘I still say we should smite them,’ Sandalphon contributed, breaking the silence.

‘Plan B, Sandalphon,’ Gabriel said with a chuckle and a friendly slap across the back, ‘I love how you think. You know that. But let’s keep that as plan B.’

Sandalphon shrugged, ‘whatever you say.’

‘Ah,’ Gabriel said, eyes zooming across to the opening door, ‘here they are now.’

The angels looked up as one as Beelezebub, Dagon and Hastur entered the coffee shop. Beelzebub paused, smiled sourly at the angels and strode on over. Reaching the table, Beelzebub flicked a chair around and sat on it backwards. Dagon and Hastur followed suit. Michael sniffed in distaste.

One of the waitresses stepped closer to the table cheerfully but Dagon quickly turned and hissed. The waitress fled for the kitchen.

‘Beelezebub,’ Gabriel said with forced brightness, ignoring Dagon’s antics.

‘Gabriel,’ Beelezebub replied with another sour smile.

‘Good news. We did it. Got Pestilence back in the game,’ Gabriel grinned widely, ‘Well, our man did it. We outsource this kind of thing nowadays. Michael, what was his name again?’

Michael shrugged and looked to Uriel, ‘Uriel, do you recall?’

Uriel shrugged and looked at Sandalphon, ‘Sandalphon?’ 

Sandalphon frowned, forehead creasing, eyes empty and confused, ‘Name?’

Gabriel shook his head and waved the question away, ‘doesn’t matter. He did a great job. Old what’s-his-name.’

‘Obviously,’ Beelezebub said, eyes wide and filled with delight, ‘There’s a mysterious pneumonia in Wuhan, did you hear?’

Gabriel grinned, ‘Perfect. Mysterious whatever-it-is. Good old Pestilence. Straight on the job.’

Beelezebub snorted, ‘Always was a hard worker. Did you ever find out who let them retire?’

Hastur shook his head in disgust, ‘bloody stupid.’

Gabriel frowned and shook his head gravely, ‘No. No we didn’t. There was no record of it, was there, Michael?’

Michael smiled with faux sweetness, ‘I’m afraid there was no record of it at all.’ 

‘How could that be?’ Hastur cried out, thumping the table, ‘wait—were the traitors involved?’

‘Maybe,’ Gabriel said, seizing on Hastur’s suggestion at once, ‘maybe. Good thinking. Who knows how long they’ve been working on their treacherous scheme and right under all of our noses. Yes, yes. I’m sure you’re onto something there, Hastur.’

Beelzebub snorted, ‘well, I’m sure your szzomebody knowszzz.’

Michael shifted uncomfortably and Beelezebub allowed herself a moment to simply watch her squirm. She grinned. ‘Don’t worry about WHO by the way,’ Beelezebub said with a wave of her hands, ‘I’ve got a few demons onto it. They’ll slow them down. Give pestilence a good chance to get a foothold.’

‘Who?’ Gabriel said, forehead twisting in confusion.

‘Yezzz WHO,’ Beelezebub replied impatiently.

Gabriel’s frown deepened, ‘right, well,’ he looked to Michael, but she was equally clueless. Michael shrugged discretely.

‘Right,’ Gabriel said, turning back to Beelezebub, ‘well, good work,’ he said giving a thumbs up. Then he paused and frowned again, ‘or is it, bad work?’ He shrugged, ‘Oh, whatever it is you say. So, what now?’

‘We wait,’ Beelezebub said with an amused smile, ‘and let Pestilience do their job.’

**Four months after** **Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A.Z. Fell and Co. Purveyor of Books to the Gentry, Soho, London**

Crowley smiled to himself as he sauntered into the Bookshop.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale called out in utter delight from where he was, sitting in his chair book in hand. His eyes darted to the clock, ‘My, you’re early today. I mean particularly early.’ 

‘Is that a complaint, angel?’ Crowley said, eyebrow raised.

‘Never!’ Aziraphale replied with ferocious passion. The very idea of objecting to Crowley’s presence!

Crowley chuckled, strode forward, and planted a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale sighed with pleasure. Then his gaze flicked back to his book.

‘Only,’ Aziraphale said with a little frown, ‘I wonder, could you give me moment more…’

Crowley snorted, ‘sure, sure,’ he agreed with a wave before collapsing onto the couch, pulling out his phone and beginning to scroll through his various social media accounts.

There were always guaranteed opportunities for creating trouble on social media. Not that Crowley had a quota to meet anymore. But, well, a bit of a prank here, a bit of mischief there. It was good to keep his hand in a little, huh? Best not to get too rusty. Crowley yawned as he scrolled through his Twitter feed. But then he stopped at one tweet. The tweet was sharing a news article. He read the headline. His stomach sunk and his skin inched. Finger shaking just a little he clicked on the link. Mystery disease. Pneumonia. In Wuhan.

This was how it started. How it always started. Rumours of a mystery illness far away. No one pays attention at first. It’s all far away, isn’t it? Humans. They never care about anything that happens far away. But far away gets closer and closer.

Wuhan. Crowley sighed. He liked Wuhan. He remembered drunkly composing poetry while watching river dolphins play in the Yangtze. Hopelessly romantic, of course. Terribly embarrassing, actually. He’d been watching Aziraphale suck on fresh fish all evening after all. Still, he liked the place.

Crowley swallowed hard and tried to make sense of the article, but it lost him. He threw the phone on the coffee table and flopped back on the couch, closing his eyes. Crowley had seen a lot of suffering in his time. Wars, famine, plagues, cruelty. Some suffering he’d learned to deal with, to rationalise. If people choose to put themselves in harm’s way, well, that’s alright isn’t it? Long as they had a choice, right? That’s how Crowley saw it, anyway.

But plagues…They were indiscriminate, sweeping. There was no choice, no justice, no fairness. Disease just swept people up and hacked them down. Even the kids. Even the kids. And for a moment, Crowley could see them, he could see them all in one single flash— the kids left orphaned by war, starving and desperate; the little dead babe held hopelessly to the breast of a young weeping mother with her own glands already swollen and putrid; the tiny corpses stacked high on wooden carts; and the little arms reaching up as the flood waters rose, reaching up, up to the Heavens as Crowley soared above saving as many as he could. Crowley shuddered and swallowed down the rising bile in his throat.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale voice echoed softly, pulling Crowley back out of his memories, ‘you alright, dear boy?’

‘Yeah,’ Crowley said, licking his lips, and jumping up, ‘yeah, course. M’fine. You ready, then? That sushi place, yeah?’

Aziraphale nodded, frowning to himself, sitting his book on his desk.

‘Well, c’mon then, angel,’ Crowley said plastering a grin on his face, ‘let’s get some lunch. No time to waste.’

Aziraphale nodded and followed, forehead still creased in concern.

An hour later, Aziraphale dipped his final sushi roll into the soy sauce and slipped it into his mouth. Delicious! His chopsticks clacked on the table as he dropped them, smiling with satisfaction. He looked across to Crowley, expecting a smile, but Crowley was staring down at the table. Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. Crowley had seemed a little off all through the meal. Clearly there was something on his mind, after all. Aziraphale reached across and took Crowley’s hand, giving it a tender squeeze, ‘my dear, are you sure you are alright?’

‘Yeah, sure, course, totally absolutely fine,’ Crowley replied unconvincingly.

Aziraphale frowned and squeezed his hand again. ‘It…’ he licked his lips, ‘it- it- isn’t anything I’ve done is it?’

‘No!’ Crowley replied emphatically, eyebrows raising high above his sunglasses, ‘No, angel, course not. You’re perfect. Completely and utterly perfect. Never been better. Everything I’ve ever wanted. You know me ‘m just a bit…’ he waved his hand around searching for the word.

‘Sensitive?’ Aziraphale supplied.

Crowley spluttered melodramatically for a good fifteen seconds before he managed to get out, ‘No!’ He grimaced and shook his head, ‘Sensitive! No! You bastard.’

‘Moody, then?’ Aziraphale tried with a little fond smile.

‘Shuddup!’ Crowley growled.

Aziraphale smiled wider. ‘Well, whatever you want to call it. What’s got you down, my dear?’

Crowley sighed, running his fingers through his hair, ‘Look, it’s just a few bad memories alright. Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Ah,’ Aziraphale replied with a nod. He’d been on Earth for six thousand years. He had his fair share of bad memories too. ‘I understand. Do you,’ He licked his lips, ‘If you want to, you could talk about it. To me, I mean.’

‘Definitely not,’ Crowley replied with a grimace and a little shudder. Then he realised how that could sound, ‘I mean I just don’t want to get into it. I just want to seal the damn box back up.’

Aziraphale nodded, ‘I understand.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, is there anything I can do?’ Aziraphale asked, head tilted, looking at Crowley softly.

‘Distract me?’ Crowley replied with a little squeak.

Aziraphale smiled softly as he squeezed Crowley’s hand hard. He leaned across the table and kissed Crowley’s lips with gentle tenderness. He squeezed Crowley’s hand again, this time allowing the edges of himself to break and bleed into the edges of Crowley. Crowley gasped in surprise and Aziraphale caught the gasp in his own mouth, pushing just a little more of himself into Crowley and drawing out a low moan that he swallowed up with kisses.

Aziraphale broke the kiss, but not the spiritual contact through their joined hands, just enough to take in Crowley’s reaction, ‘Diverted?’

‘Ngk.’

Aziraphale chuckled and made the edges of his hand ripple within Crowley, drawing out another moan, ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

**Five months after** **Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A dodgy bar in London**

‘You,’ Crowley said, pointing at a young man at the bar trying to order a beer, ‘young human person…’

The young man turned and frowned, ‘what?’

‘Yeah, you,’ Crowley drawled, swaying slightly in his drunken state, ‘thisss outbreak thing in Wuhan. You worried? You’re not, right? You humans have got this, huh? Got it all sorted. With your um…’ he frowned and mimed picking up something small and putting it in his mouth, ‘you know, when you’re sick the doctor gives you the… um…’ he mimed jabbing himself in the arm.

The young man’s eyes widened, and he stepped back from Crowley a fraction, ‘Medicine?’

Crowley clicked his fingers, and pointed to the young man, ‘That’s it! But that good medicine you’ve got now. Not, you know,’ he gestured widely, ‘the other stuff. Not leeches and the drilling in the head thing. You know. The anti…’ Crowley gestured in wild circles, ‘thing.’

‘Anti-biotics?’ the man replied, eyebrows raised.

‘I think so,’ Crowley said taking a deep swig of his drink. The young man looked at Crowley’s glass and the golden liquid within, did a rough calculation of the amount of alcohol in a serving of spirits that large, picked up his own beer and stepped further away again.

Crowley frowned. ‘Wait!’ he cried out, ‘There’s the other one. You know, you know, with the cows and the milk maids.’

‘What?’ The man said, shaking his head, arm raised defensively, ‘Look, mate I don’t know what you’re talking about but maybe it’s time for you to head for home yeah?’ he said, turning away and taking his beer as far away from Crowley as he could get.

Crowley frowned at his retreating back.

‘Vaccines.’

‘What?’ Crowley said, startled.

‘Vaccines,’ a middle-aged woman with caramel skin and cropped black hair repeated. She was sitting alone at the bar and she took a sip of her white wine before she explained further, ‘the cows and the milk maids. You’re talking about Edward Jenner and the smallpox vaccine.’

‘Yes!’ Crowley said with a click of his fingers as he sauntered over and plonked himself down in the seat next to her, ‘you know what ‘m talking about.’

The woman sighed and nodded, ‘I do, I do,’ she confirmed, looking across to Crowley, her dark eyes contacting his through his sunglasses.

‘Right, so, it is all gonna be fine this time, isn’t it? This thing? You know, in Wuhan,’ Crowley said. ‘You have antibiotics and vaccines and hospitals. You humans have got this all under control, huh?’

The woman broke into great peals of laughter and shook her head. She rubbed her face with her hands and sighed. ‘No, dear, I’m afraid not,’ she sighed again, and turned to Crowley, ‘The outbreak in Wuhan is a novel coronavirus. And here’s the first piece of bad news: antibiotics aren’t effective against viruses. So, forget about them. Also, this is a _new_ virus. That’s why this is so worrying. So, no vaccine,’ she shrugged, ‘I mean they’ll get working on one I’m sure, so it is something to hope for, for the future. But vaccine development takes time and we’ve never developed a vaccine for a coronavirus before. We must be prepared for the novel coronavirus to sweep the world long before then. Not everyone in the world has access to hospitals, you know. And the hospitals we have could be easily overwhelmed by a pandemic.’

‘No…no…’ Crowley wailed, face crumpling, ‘Clever humans. Always so clever humans. There’s gotta be something you can do?’

The woman smiled sadly, ‘There is. We can slow it down. Give the health system time to prepare. Border closures. Quarantine. Hand washing. We can make sure that everyone who needs an ICU bed gets one,’ she frowned, ‘well, everyone here at least.’

Crowley’s nose wrinkled up distaste, like this wasn’t quite what he was hoping for. ‘n that’ll work then, right? It’ll all be fine then?’

The woman took another sip of her wine, ‘I hope so. I really hope so. I mean, they’ve got to actually do all that,’ she sighed, ‘I don’t know that they’re going to get it all right, you know? That’s my biggest worry right now.’

Crowley sighed and took a big swig of his drink. They sat together, drinking in melancholy silence for several minutes before Crowley’s eyes began to well with tears. ‘No,’ he cried into his drink, shaking his head, ‘No, no, it can’t be. No. I can’t do this again.’

The woman frowned and turned to Crowley, examining him closely, ‘What do you mean, do this again?’

Crowley shook his head rapidly and ignored the question, ‘What if this is one of Hell’s schemes…or shit… worse still, one of Heaven’s?’

The woman’s eyes narrowed, ‘Sir, you’re not doing well. Is there someone I take you to?’

Crowley waved this away, ‘nah. He’ll worry.’

The woman took this in with a careful evaluating gaze. ‘Should he worry?’ she said softly.

Crowley laughed. ‘Maybe?’

The woman frowned.

Crowley shook his head, ‘Don’t wanna bother him with this he might…’ Crowley’s voice trailed off and he grimaced. The woman waited patiently for Crowley to continue and eventually, with a sigh, he did, ‘I don’t wanna lose him.’

The woman chewed her bottom lip, ‘I see. I know how you feel. But if you want some free advice, you should go to him now. Talk to each other. Support each other. I’m not sure exactly what’s what between you but whatever it is, that’s your best chance of holding onto him.’

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, ‘Alright. Alright. I’ll think about it.’

The woman reached out and put a hand on Crowley’s, ‘I think you need to sober up and get yourself to him quick smart actually.’

Crowley sighed. ‘Fine.’ He grimaced effortfully and an empty bottle on the bar filled with scotch. Crowley opened his mouth several times frowning as if he tasted something bitter. 

The woman looked towards the bottle and frowned, ‘how did you…’

‘Not important,’ Crowley said with a wave, and the woman suddenly felt that it wasn’t important after all. In fact, she couldn’t quite remember what she’d even been thinking. All the clinical judgements she’d been carefully cataloguing in her mind slipped right out like a knife through warm butter. 

‘But this is,’ Crowley continued with a wave of his hand, ‘you should take your own advice. Talk to someone.’

The woman laughed. ‘Doctors make the worst patients,’ she said, ‘Everyone knows that. Never take our own advice.’ She took another sip from her wine glass.

Crowley snorted and glared at her.

The woman sighed, ‘alright. Fine,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I’ll think about it. You happy?’

Crowley nodded. He stood and strode towards the bar’s entrance. As Crowley reached the door he turned back, ‘Oh, human woman doctor person?’

The women turned with a grin, ‘that’s me, I assume?’

Crowley clicked his fingers, ‘you’re gonna be fine.’

The woman frowned, ‘Wait, what do you mean by that?’ she called out, but Crowley was long gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Six months after** **Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A.Z. Fell and Co. Purveyor of Books to the Gentry, Soho, London**

Aziraphale paced a hard line up and down the floor of his Bookshop, hands twisting furiously in front of him. The world was spiralling out of control and Aziraphale was caught up in the sweeping power of it all.

Aziraphale stopped and rubbed his face, sighing deeply. Aziraphale had witnessed the swift, shocking sweep of history before. He recognised its ebbs and flows, and this was hardly the first time he’d been caught in its grip.

But this time, this time was different. Aziraphale been caught in the great sweep of history before. But he’d never been swept up by history _without orders_. He hadn’t always liked the orders that he’d had. He hadn’t always agreed with them. He hadn’t always, if he was in the mood to be completely honest with himself, obeyed the orders. In fact, he had sometimes worked quite hard between the exact letter of the orders. But he had always, always, at the very least, known what his orders were. He had always known what Heaven expected of him, and by extension, what God expected of him. Aziraphale’s hands clasped into hard fists at his side and he returned to his pacing.

He who has ears, let him listen. Aziraphale was trying to listen. He really was. Aziraphale was trying very hard to listen to his own heart, to his own conscience. He was trying to hear the music, to find the beat that would guide him to the next step in this wild rule-free dance that he found himself dancing. But despite his best efforts, Aziraphale found himself suddenly quite deaf to it.

Aziraphale had rejected Heaven in favour of saving the world. And, for a time he had paid no real price. Quite the opposite, in fact. Aziraphale had gotten everything he’d ever wanted for his rebellion and more. But now, well…evidently, now it was time to pay up.

Aziraphale shook his head tightly, walking over to the window of his Bookshop and gazing out to the street. He watched the people passing his shop with trepidation. Aziraphale recognised the signs. He could read the ebb and flow of history. He frowned. Crowley maintained that the humans had it all under control. He put that view forward quite forcefully, in fact. But Aziraphale knew Crowley well enough to know that even Crowley didn’t believe that. He too was worried.

Aziraphale turned away from the window and sighed in frustration. If only he knew what the Almighty wanted him to do. Aziraphale’s eyes flicked immediately to the rug in the middle of the room. He bit his lip. It would be risky. He was a traitor. He couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly. But could he? Aziraphale walked over to the rug and flicked it over, revealing the old, carefully drawn gateway beneath. He reached out and ran a finger across the perfect white hand-drawn circle. Would the Almighty answer? Aziraphale sighed. He couldn’t very well risk it to find out. He couldn’t. Or could he?

An instant later, Aziraphale felt himself thrown across the room and pressed into the wall by a powerful force. For a moment he was terrified, thinking that Heaven had somehow sensed his presence at the edge of the gateway and had catapulted him away in an instant. But, no. He could feel familiar hands gripping his coat tightly. His eyes fluttered open to see Crowley glaring at him, golden eyes flashing with anger.

‘What are you doing?’ Crowley growled.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale said with a little sigh of relief.

‘They tried to dessstroy you,’ Crowley continued with a hiss.

‘I know, dear, I know,’ Aziraphale said nervously, ‘I was only considering…’

Crowley growled loudly. It reverberated throughout the bookshop.

‘Perhaps the Almighty…’

Crowley growled again. ‘Don’t be ssstupid!’ Crowley hissed with venom, ‘She didn’t show up at Armageddon, she didn’t try to sssave you from the Hellfire and she isn’t coming now, you idiot.’

Aziraphale’s face fell in an instant and his bottom lip began to wobble uncontrollably. A single tear broke through his stoic façade, escaped and trickled slowly and wetly down his cheek.

Crowley grimaced, looked away and shook his head as if in pain. He sighed, looked back to Aziraphale, and when he spoke, all the anger, all the heat was gone, ‘You’re not an idiot. ‘m sorry okay.’

Aziraphale nodded rapidly, another tear flowing down the other cheek.

Crowley loosened his grip on Aziraphale’s coat, then let it go entirely. He lifted a hand to Aziraphale’s face instead, caressing him tenderly, fingertips brushing along his cheeks and the line of his jaw. Aziraphale was transfixed, staring deeply into Crowley’s eyes. Several silent moments slid by.

When Crowley eventually spoke, his voice was soft and infused with kindness, ‘but you can’t try to contact her through them anymore. You understand that, don’t you? They’ll destroy you, angel. I need you to understand that.’

Aziraphale made a little desperate noise and nodded rapidly again.

‘Promise me,’ Crowley whispered, gently wiping away Aziraphale’s tears, taking each teardrop on his fingertip and sponging it out of existence.

‘I promise,’ Aziraphale said at once, his voice hoarse.

‘You need to ssstay sssafe. I can’t lossse you, angel,’ Crowley gulped hard, ‘Promise me.’

‘You won’t lose me, I promise,’ Aziraphale said, his voice wavering.

‘Stay safe ‘n we face it all together,’ Crowley whispered.

‘Together,’ Aziraphale said with a little smile, ‘our own side.’

Crowley nodded slowly. ‘Our own side,’ he repeated. Crowley sighed deeply and, with a shake of his head he added, ‘What am I going to do with you?’

‘I wouldn’t have actually done it,’ Aziraphale said in a nervous rush, eyes darting away.

Crowley snorted, ‘no _bullshit_ , Aziraphale.’

Aziraphale bit his lip, ‘alright. I was thinking about it. But you are right. I can see that clearly now. It is simply too dangerous. I promise, Crowley. I won’t break my word.’

Crowley slumped against Aziraphale and breathed in hard, letting the delicious scent of him fill his nostrils, letting it drag him to a place of safety and contentment. After so many years, Aziraphale was home. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and ran his fingertips up and down Crowley’s back, little circular patterns that comforted and teased in equal measure.

Crowley made a little whimpering noise and nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck, kissing his skin softly at first and then with a quickly rising hunger. Soon he was taking in whole mouthfuls of flesh and sucking hard, teasing out little strawberry patches amongst the white.

Aziraphale gasped, hands still moving up and down Crowley’s back, eyes fluttering shut, ‘Oh, Crowley…’

Crowley kept kissing hungrily, desperately, adding just the tiniest amount of teeth and making Aziraphale keen. Crowley paused to moan, his breath rippling against Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley looked down at the little strawberry patches—mine, all mine, he thought to himself—and licked at the marks gently with a tongue that was just a little serpentine. He inhaled deeply again, close to the hot skin, inhaling through his nose and open mouth and groaning at the pleasure of it as the scent washed across his brain. He nuzzled his nose back in and kissed again. ‘Need you now,’ Crowley whispered softly and dangerously into Aziraphale’s neck, making little shivers run up and down Aziraphale’s spine.

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale chocked out, clutching at Crowley, griping tightly at his arms, ‘oh yes.’

Crowley walked Aziraphale over to the couch, guiding him to sit. He clicked his fingers instantly disappearing Aziraphale’s trousers and underwear. Aziraphale’s perfect pink erection bobbed up. Crowley smiled, somehow it was even more appetising with Aziraphale’s shirt, coat and bow tie still on, respectable and wanton all at once. And wasn’t that Aziraphale exactly, Crowley thought to himself, wanton pleasure with a respectable veneer?

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale gasped, ‘a customer could…’

Crowley stopped staring to click his fingers again, ‘Not anymore.’ The windows glazed over, and the sounds outside became distant and removed, like they were underwater. Aziraphale could feel the edges of the barrier with his ethereal senses. No one would come in.

Crowley growled a low growl, all hunger, no anger, and his amber yes flashed, ‘You’re all mine.’

Aziraphale gulped, clutching at the couch nervously. Crowley smiled a sideways grin and fell at Aziraphale’s feet, pushing his legs open and licking tenderly at his thighs. Aziraphale moaned, head falling back against the back of the couch. Crowley licked his way, slowly and tenderly up Aziraphale’s ample thighs, pausing to nibble gently at the flesh of the inner thighs, and lapping at the crevice between where leg ends, and torso begins with long, sure strokes. On and on the lapping went as Aziraphale withered and wiggled beneath.

Finally, Aziraphale choked out, ‘please…’

Crowley smiled to himself and moved on to Aziraphale’s cock, wrapping his tongue around his member and tugging it as no human could. Aziraphale keened.

After another gentle tongue tug Crowley paused to groan himself, ‘fuck,’ he said standing up, ‘can’t wait any longer.’ He clicked his fingers again, disappearing his own tight trousers. As with Aziraphale, he kept his shirt and jacket on.

Aziraphale smiled at the sight, ‘no indecision today, dear?’

‘Shut up,’ Crowley said affectionately while climbing onto his lap, ‘need you now,’ he added, voice thick with need as he lowered himself onto Aziraphale, easing Aziraphale’s member into the slick depths of himself. Crowley hissed in pleasure as he took Aziraphale fully in, his eyes fluttering shut.

Aziraphale moaned, head lolling back, ‘oh, Crowley, that’s…’ he bit down hard, ‘Oh, that’s exquisite…’

Crowley moaned in agreement and began to move, to rock up and down, gently at first but quickly speeding up. Aziraphale griped onto Crowley’s bony hips and began to thrust up with a matching rhythm. Crowley keened. He could contain himself no longer. He leaned down close to Aziraphale’s ear and whispered, ‘you’re mine, Aziraphale, got it? Love you so damn much.’

Aziraphale moaned and looked into those perfect amber eyes, ‘I love you, too,’ he choked out. 

Crowley shuddered. His mouth found Aziraphale’s and he kissed him messily, letting his boundaries go in the same moment, letting the line between himself and his angel dissolve and blur at every point of contact. Aziraphale immediately reciprocated and they crashed into each other, mixing and bleeding into one, as their pleasure crested and peaked, one in ecstasy and love.

As they became aware of themselves again, two separate beings in two separate bodies, Crowley leaned down and kissed the strawberry patches on Aziraphale’s neck. ‘Love you,’ he whispered.

‘I love you too,’ Aziraphale replied, voice rippling with affection and satisfied desire.

Crowley sighed and slipped Aziraphale’s now softened cock out, clicking his fingers to disappear the mess. He immediately collapsed onto the couch, head in Aziraphale’s lap, closed his eyes and nuzzled in to Aziraphale’s stomach. A little yawn later and Crowley was already falling asleep. Aziraphale chuckled at the little snakey snores echoing across his stomach, and the ridiculous sight they currently made, both still quite trouser-less and Crowley dead to the world.

Aziraphale sighed and fondled Crowley’s ruby red hair as he slept. Crowley’s nap offered an opportunity for Aziraphale to reflect. And he needed to pause and reflect. Aziraphale hated to admit it. But Crowley was right. Aziraphale could not ever contact the Almighty through Heaven again. It was simply too dangerous. But he remained an angel of the Lord. He needed to commune with the Almighty. He would have to find another way. Crowley slept on and Aziraphale turned it over carefully in his mind.

Crowley slept for several hours and Aziraphale thought carefully throughout. When Crowley woke, yawning and stretching they both made themselves respectable again. Trousers were pulled on, or miracled on in Crowley’s case and Aziraphale declared that had he had a craving for almond croissants that it could only be satisfied by the wares of a very specific patisserie across town.

Crowley rolled his eyes, ‘I suppose I should be grateful you aren’t sending me to Paris.’

Aziraphale brushed down his coat, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Crowley snorted. But he also paused, watching Aziraphale carefully and taking the measure of him. Eventually he nodded, satisfied that the danger had definitely passed. 

‘Remember your promise, angel,’ Crowley said, planting a quick kiss on his lips, ‘and if by some ridiculous turn of events she actually answers tell her I said hi.’

Aziraphale tutted and a warm blush spread across his cheeks, ‘Fine.’

Crowley grinned a little sideways grin, ‘or fuck off one of the two.’

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale chastised.

Crowley sauntered to the door, ‘You’ve promised, angel,’ he said opening the door and slipping through.

‘Yes, yes dear!’ Aziraphale replied a bit testily as the door slammed. 

Aziraphale sighed. He walked slowly over to the couch and collapsed onto it. He sighed again. He’d seen it on many occasions, (in fact, he’d been known to inspire it), but he’d never done it. Not quite like this. There had never been a need, he supposed. There was a need now.

Aziraphale stood up, licked his lips and knelt on the hard floor. He pressed his hands together, cleared his throat and began to speak, to pour out his desperate need, to appeal for help. For the first time, Aziraphale prayed as the humans had done for millennia: without a miracle, without an intermediary, and without reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Seven months after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A favourite bench, St James Park**

‘You’re absolutely right, Crowley,’ Aziraphale announced as he sat down on the bench beside him, turning his head to give Crowley a little kiss.

As Crowley pulled away from the kiss, he raised an eyebrow and looked at Aziraphale sceptically, ‘Am I?’ He snorted and gestured dramatically, ‘well, course I am. What about now?’

‘The humans,’ Aziraphale said with a smile, ‘the humans are handling it,’ he nodded quickly, ‘social distancing and quarantine and closing borders and there is even talk of a,’ he paused and pronounced the next words carefully, ‘lock down.’ Aziraphale nodded rapidly again. ‘They’re sorting it out!’ he added brightly, with a flourish of his hands and a touch of manic enthusiasm. ‘It’s all going to be fine!’

Crowley listened carefully, finger running across his chin, taking in Aziraphale’s state. Eventually, he came to his conclusion and deliberately flicked on a smile, ‘see? Told you it’d be fine. Humans work this stuff out now. Not like the old days.’ Crowley suppressed a shiver. Not like the fourteenth century.

Crowley looked back to the lake in front of them both. A mother and a young child were feeding the ducks. One of the bigger ducks was zooming about greedily snatching up whatever morsels of food they shared. The others couldn’t get a look in. Crowley’s eyes narrowed.

Aziraphale shook his head, ‘No. Not at all,’ he replied, ‘not like the old days at all.’ He swallowed hard. With another flourish of his hands he added, ‘all we’ve got to do is keep to their rules.’

‘What?’ Crowley asked with a frown as he turned away from the ducks and back to Aziraphale.

‘The humans are sorting it out, Crowley!’ Aziraphale cried out loudly, ‘just as you said. If we just keep to their rules, do exactly as they say, it’ll all be fine,’ he waved his hands again, ‘over in a jiffy.’

Crowley snorted, ‘a jiffy?’

‘You know what I mean,’ Aziraphale said a bit testily.

Crowley gave Aziraphale another careful stare. Finally, he sighed. Then he nodded, ‘alright then.’

Aziraphale grinned wildly and Crowley basked in the glow, for a moment letting himself forget the layers of delusion behind the smile.

A moment later the particularly annoying duck found himself suddenly and unexpectedly submerged underwater.

‘Crowley, really! Is that necessary?’ Aziraphale chastised, with a tut and a shake of his head, ‘I don’t know why you find that so amusing.’

Crowley shrugged and the duck popped back to the surface quacking angrily, much to the amusement of the child at the lake’s edge.

**Seven and a half months after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**Crowley’s flat, Mayfair, London**

Crowley flopped down on his white leather lounge and sighed. A moment later he was repositioning, trying to get comfortable. He repositioned again, ‘oh for fuck’s sake!’ He leapt up, turned to the white leather monstrosity and growled demonically, ‘be comfortable!’ He flopped back down. But a moment later he was repositioning again. Damn. It was impossible. No lounge was as comfortable as the couch in the Bookshop. And his whole flat was like this stupid couch. None of it felt like home. None of it was ever intended to be home. Well, there were a few choice souvenirs that Crowley was attached to. Deeply attached to, but he tried not to examine that too much. All the rest of it though? Decidedly not home. Just a base of operations. Just a place to have a nap if he felt so inclined.

Crowley sighed. Maybe he should have sleep now? Just for want of something to do. He’d already fertilised his plants and given them a really good talking to, even the new ones that he’d managed to pick up in the mad rush just before the lock down started. They were all thoroughly threatened and growing enthusiastically.

He’d also had a television marathon. Crowley had watched every James Bond movie ever made, every episode of the Golden Girls and the complete The Good Place. He ended the marathon with a few of his favourite 1990s romcoms. It was the perfect time to watch them because Aziraphale wasn’t here to see him cry. That was a secret he wanted to keep for several more centuries at least. But after all of that, he couldn’t stand the thought of more television.

Next, he’d listened to music. Velvet Underground. The best of his collection of soul music. He’d even put on some disco and tried out the old dance moves. But that became old real fast. So, he had turned to developing a few schemes.

Social media was a nice place to cause trouble nowadays. Basically, the modern agora, wasn’t it? Perfect spot to stroll on in and find something or someone to stir. And Crowley could do that while keeping to the rules, couldn’t he? But, after only a few minutes getting the feel for the place, Crowley quickly decided against the idea. Right now, social media was a quagmire of misery and panic. Crowley just didn’t have the heart to throw his pranks into that atmosphere.

Crowley briefly toyed with the idea of gluing some coins on the pavement outside his building. After all, slipping just outside the apartment was more bending the rules than breaking them. But he’d probably just end up pranking the essential workers then, wouldn’t he? Nah. It just wasn’t working for him at the moment.

All of which meant that Crowley was bored. Painfully, infuriatingly, mind-numbingly bored. What he wanted, what Crowley really wanted, what he needed, in fact, was the company of a certain angel. But that couldn’t be. For the time being, that certain angel needed to cling to humanity’s rules in order to stop himself from returning to Heaven’s and as much as that made Crowley burn in frustration, he had to concede that it was a decided improvement and Crowley would be damned if he was going to gripe about it. Well, he was damned anyway, but still.

Crowley was determined to give Aziraphale what he needed to get through this without running back to Heaven. As long as Aziraphale didn’t run back Heaven where he’d surely be destroyed then Crowley would find a way to cope. After all, Crowley had coped with lengthy periods without Aziraphale before. Sure, that coping often involved ridiculous amounts of alcohol, a lot of yelling and, at times, century-long naps. But still, he had coped, hadn’t he? And, if, right now, Crowley also had to cope with the fact that they were in the middle a bloody pandemic, well, Crowley would just have to cope with that too, wouldn’t he?

Crowley’s hands curled into tight little fists. Couldn’t be worse than the Black Death, could it? It won’t be worse than the Black Death. Couldn’t be. Crowley’s hands curled tighter, nails digging into the flesh of his hands, ‘fucking fourteenth century,’ Crowley muttered, pushing the memories out of his mind forcefully before they had the chance to take hold and blossom into glorious flashbacks. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. It’s different now. Clever humans’ll sort it out.

Anyway, doesn’t kill kids this one. _Doesn’t kill kids_. Most of the kids don’t even know they’re sick. Crowley had wanted to kiss Pestilence right on their filthy disease-ridden lips when he’d read that. Didn’t really understand all the human-y science-y stuff in the article but he took away that little fact like a desperate man finding a coin in a pile of shit.

Crowley got up with a frustrated leap, deliberately stretching out his hands, letting go of the fists. Stupid couch just wasn’t comfortable. Crowley stalked through his wildly and miraculously over-grown flat, wandering from room to room, looking for something to take his mind off it all. ‘Bored, bored, bored…’ he muttered to himself as he glared at his plants and fondled some of his most precious souvenirs lovingly.

Eventually, Crowley found himself slouching again on the uncomfortable white lounge for want of something better to do. Crowley’s phone rang. ‘Thank someone,’ Crowley muttered as he launched himself straight for the phone, heart thumping with the knowledge that it was, that it had to be—please, please—Aziraphale. Although Crowley’s heart was racing, he made sure he answered with all the nonchalant boredom and frustration that he could muster. And, right now, that was quite a lot. Aziraphale took it well.

A short five minutes later, Crowley was hanging up the phone call and setting his alarm for July, a feat only possible because he assumed it was. Alarm set, Crowley snorted to himself in amusement for a moment as the image of Aziraphale loading some poorer unsuspecting burglars up with baked goods came to mind. If it was the old days, Crowley’d work that up into a proper punishment and propose it to Hell. Something about if you steal something valuable, you get forced into taking away a whole pile of shit you don’t want. Like sourdough. It needed work but there was something in it. If it was the old days. But it wasn’t the old days. Thankfully.

With a decidedly morose saunter, Crowley made his way to his bedroom, clicked his fingers to change his clothes to the kind of sleek black pyjamas that Crowley imagined that the kind of human that he pretended to be might wear if he didn’t want to sleep naked. Then, Crowley collapsed on the bed, exhausted, frustrated, and absolutely determined to sleep through it all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thirteen months after Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A.Z. Fell and Co. Purveyor of Books to the Gentry, Soho, London**

Aziraphale sighed and glanced at the calendar yet again, as if looking at the date repeatedly could speed up time. As if calculating just how long it had been could prove any kind of balm against time’s terrible passage.

Aziraphale had regretted not agreeing to Crowley’s proposition of slithering on over and locking down with him many times. Many, many times. He really couldn’t fault Crowley for wanting to sleep through it all. He would never be so indiscreet as to say it to Crowley’s face, but Crowley was a sensitive soul, and quite ill-equipped to cope with this kind of thing. Better, for him, that he just slept through it.

But it had left Aziraphale quite alone, without even an occasional phone call to pass the time. It had also left him repeatedly doubting his decision to say no, his decision to keep Crowley away. And that thought—that thought—was enough to open the whole messy box again.

Perhaps he had been too hasty to dismiss Crowley’s idea, Aziraphale thought to himself yet again, biting his lip. Maybe he had done the wrong thing. Just another foolish decision amongst many and dear Crowley was suffering unnecessarily in the process. Aziraphale’s stomach twisted and churned with a familiar anxiety. But no, Aziraphale reprimanded himself, as his thoughts flipped back yet again, dancing the same terrible dance they had been dancing for months. No. This was all too important. They had to stick to the rules, just as the humans had made them. The exact letter of the rules. Aziraphale’s stomach flip-flopped again. And yet, he missed Crowley terribly. Perhaps, he should have…. No! No! Aziraphale said to himself again, with a little more force. We all must keep to the rules. If we all just keep to the rules, then it’ll all be over in a jiffy and everything will be tickiboo.

Aziraphale could not put his own temporary happiness ahead of what was best for the whole of humanity. It was unthinkable. And yet, and yet… he did miss Crowley. Aziraphale had clocked up plenty time longing for Crowley in his six thousand years on Earth. But he’d never missed him quite like this. He missed him with the profound sadness that came from knowing exactly what it was he missed. He knew what it was now, to be with Crowley. Why, he could almost feel his hand in his own, feel the ghost of his lips across his… he could almost taste him. And it was not imagining what the taste might be like. He knew the exact flavour intimately. For the first time, his longing was precise. Aziraphale sighed and his lower lip wobbling ever so slightly.

The phone rang, a sharp metallic sound punctuating the silence, and Aziraphale leapt towards it, heart thumping in his chest. It was probably customer. Of course, it would be a customer. Someone looking for a first edition or a book of prophesy. Someone looking for something to read to pass the time. But maybe, just maybe it was… Aziraphale could barely form the thought coherently, such was the depths of his excitement. Maybe it was… Maybe it was… He swallowed hard and picked up the receiver, ‘Hello?’

A moment later, Aziraphale was squealing with the delight at the drawl on the other end of the line, ‘Crowley!’

‘Alright, angel?’ Crowley said voice thick with sleep, a little yawn cutting off the very end of the sentence. Clearly, Crowley had picked up his phone and rung Aziraphale the very moment he’d woken and Aziraphale’s heart cracked open warmly with the joy of it. He beamed.

‘Crowley, my dear boy, it is so very good to hear from you,’ Aziraphale said, his voice rich with the warmth of his affection.

‘Hm…’ Crowley agreed. He yawned again. ‘All over then?’

‘Ah,’ Aziraphale said, frowning as he wondered how, exactly, to explain it all. History was a funny thing. Sometimes it moved at a slow and steady pace. Easy to catch. Easy to keep up. Other times, well. Sometimes it seemed to all happen in a wild rush. Of the two of them, it was Crowley who was better at keeping up in such times. Aziraphale sighed, collected his thoughts, and began as best he could, ‘I’m afraid not. You see, while we aren’t at present in an official second lockdown, I think another lockdown is very likely. For now, we need to keep very closely to the rule of six.’

‘The rule of six?’ Crowley repeated. It sounded strangely like some kind of witchcraft thing.

‘Yes, yes,’ Aziraphale continued, building up steam as his own swirling anxiety at last found an outlet, ‘the rule of six means that we can only meet in groups of six or less. Oh, and I’m afraid there’s still restrictions on pub opening times. And we need to wear masks. Though that, would you believe it, has gotten terribly controversial in some quarters. The things humans get distressed about! Why I remember when everyone volunteered to wear flea-invested wigs and corsets that made it impossible to breathe and now they worry about popping on a mask to protect their fellow humans. It is particularly controversial, I am led to understand, in the United States of America. There have been protests about it, can you imagine? All terribly worried that it restricts their liberty,’ Aziraphale took a great breath and continued, ‘Incidentally, they’re not doing too well with the whole COVID19 thing over there. And India is in quite a bad way too. Of course, we aren’t doing all that well here either. It is all rather troubling, Crowley. And the American election is coming up. Some people are saying Trump—he’s the current President— might not leave office even if he loses the election. Which, given the fact that he said that you could cure COVID19 by drinking disinfectant is just a little bit concerning. I’m not sure someone so stupid should hold such a powerful position, especially not in these times. Frankly, he’s even worse than that one you hated so much. Oh, what was his name now? You know who I mean. But, back to the pandemic. The total worldwide deaths surpassed one million recently, one million! Crowley, remember when there wasn’t a million people in the whole world? And to think that already a million people have died from…’

Click.

‘Crowley? Crowley?!’ Aziraphale sighed as he put the phone down. His bottom lip wobbled. ‘Oh, dear,’ he said to himself aloud, voice wavering, ‘I made a right mess of that…’ he sniffed, ‘he’ll probably sleep for another year and then where will I be?’

And then Aziraphale remembered. They weren’t in lock down now. He just needed to keep to the rule of six. And Aziraphale and Crowley, why they were less than six. There was no reason why he couldn’t have a little trip to Mayfair if he wore a mask and took all the correct precautions. No reason at all. Aziraphale wiped away his tears and smiled brightly. He would just have to make the best of things. A moment later he was dashing about packing an impossible number of books and baked goods into several large, old-fashioned and gaudy material bags and humming happily to himself.

Crowley threw the phone across the room and closed his eyes. Not over. If this were the old days, I’d have a commendation by now, he thought to himself. Maybe several. Definitely would have got one for the whole stupidity with the masks thing. Hell is empty. All the demons are here. Stupid bloody humans, Crowley thought to himself. Crowley closed his eyes with grim determination. Mercifully, his hard and angular thoughts began to soften, and, with relief, he let himself be dragged back into the sweet oblivion of sleep. Perhaps a few more months would do it.

Sometime later, Crowley couldn’t say how long, he stirred. The positioning of the bed felt different under him and the pillow under his head felt particularly warm and inviting. Plus, it smelt so good. Crowley breathed in the warm and familiar scent. He cracked open a single eye and smiled, ‘you came.’

‘I came,’ Aziraphale said, lowering his book to look down at Crowley. Aziraphale was sitting primly in Crowley’s bed, leaning against the headboard with a pillow behind him. Crowley, apparently, was using Aziraphale’s belly as a pillow, his body stretched out across the bed sideways.

Crowley slid his body closer and curled himself around Aziraphale. He made a little whimpering noise and closed his eyes again. He breathed in the heavy, delicious scent and let his heart unwind.

‘Hm… don’t get crumbs in the bed,’ Crowley murmured sleepily.

Aziraphale tutted, ‘Well, I dare say that’s a lovely welcome, isn’t it?’

‘You’ve already gotten crumbs in the bed, haven’t you?’ Crowley replied with a fond smile.

‘I miracled them away!’ Aziraphale answered testily.

Crowley smiled wider, nuzzling in to Aziraphale’s stomach. Aziraphale propped his book up to the side so he could play with Crowley’s hair, fingertips swirling deliciously along the scalp. Moments later Crowley was snoring a little snakey snore. He kept smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are going to leave them here, at this happy place, because I only do happy endings. I may come back to this in a year's time or so and give it a more final conclusion. 
> 
> My next project in this series is another full sequel. This one will be set several years after Armageddon-that-wasn't and it will be based on the sequel that Neil and Terry had planned to write. I have researched it and planned it out, and I'm going to start writing it in the new year. Subscribe to the series if that interests you. 
> 
> Thanks everyone!


End file.
